


Somewhere In Between

by damozel



Category: Affinity - Sarah Waters
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Community: femslashex, F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, Pining, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, Victorian, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 09:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12318009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damozel/pseuds/damozel
Summary: Selina never stopped looking for Margaret. Margaret never stopped waiting for her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talkingtothesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20th January 1875  
> St Agnes' Eve

_When Will She Come; When Will She Come?_

Margaret tried desperately to blot out the approach of the new day. But it was no good. The sun continued to rise, casting weak spangles of light over the now chaotic room. The messy, half-unpacked trunk, the disordered boxes, Selina's many gowns. The remains of what might have been taunted her from every angle as she finally gave way to despair.

'It's my own fault; I'm not concentrating hard enough,' she choked out in frustration, trying to clear her thoughts. But too many images arose unbidden in her mind's eye. The coarse bulk of a prison matron's ungainly form, stooping under the weight of her keys. That fine coil of Selina's hair, falling through her fingertips. The soft scent of orange blossoms against her cheek. Selina's fine features in the dull light of her prison cell, carved out like a Crivelli.   

Perhaps it was that last image—Selina in profile, more beautiful than any Renaissance Madonna—that brought about the change. As the vision grew stronger and more palpable, the air in Margaret's bedroom seemed to bend and quiver; the room seemed to tip ever so slightly on its axis. A translucent hand pushed its way through the ether, reaching, grasping for her. There was no body; there was barely even a wrist. Yet Margaret knew, beyond any shadow of a doubt, whose hand it was. 

She reached desperately for Selina, tears flooding her face as she tried to catch hold of her. Her affinity. To touch her, contain her, consume her for the very first time. But as quickly as it had appeared, the hand began to disintegrate. Margaret's fingers clasped only at the empty air.

***

If it weren't for the painful burning sensation in Margaret's chest as she ran towards the prison, she might have supposed that she was dreaming. It was not yet five in the morning but the whole place seemed alive with activity as she was shown into the building by a confused looking young matron.

'You've heard?' gasped Mrs Jelf, as the pair collided on the stairwell.

'I—yes, yes,' Margaret stuttered, mirroring Mrs Jelf's distraught expression. 'What happened?'

'We—we don't know,' Mrs Jelf replied, still looking thoroughly dazed. 'There's been no escape. No doors have been opened. No one has been forced.' The matron smoothed down her apron, biting back the tears. 'She's just gone.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31st October 1878  
> All Hallow's Eve

According to Margaret's many books on the subject, certain points in the calendar were best suited to making contact with the spirit world. On these nights, the boundary between this world and the next could slacken and bend, unleashing forces that had hitherto been restrained. With Selina there was some confusion, given that she hadn't, precisely, _died_. In fact there was little if any literature dealing with cases such as hers. But, Margaret reasoned, what occasion could be more conducive to supernatural activity than Halloween night?

She had long ago taken Pa's study for her own. With Mother away tending to the grandchildren, and Vigers gone to a new post, there was no one left to object. So it came to pass that, on All Hallow's Eve, a dozen or so candles set the office ablaze, hot wax dripping carelessly down the stacks of books: _Great Spirit-Mediums of the World_ by Algernon Jeffrey Blye, _The Angel, the Firestone, and the Rose_ by Aubrey Peakes, _Reclaiming What is Lost_ by Mrs Clara Hasping. 

Of course, there had been no official news of Selina. The police had launched a manhunt and Mr Shillitoe was removed from his post, but no clue was ever found. Occasionally an article would pop up in one of the lower-class daily papers, claiming that Selina had been spotted working as a dairymaid in Shropshire, a lady's maid in Edinburgh, a barmaid in Hackney. As the months went by, the articles appeared less and less frequently, until they eventually disappeared altogether.

No official news was, all the same, quite different to no news at all. The spiritualist world had their own ideas about the fate of their celebrity sister, Miss Selina Dawes, which were enumerated at great lengths at the meetings Margaret dutifully attended. And she had conducted a great deal of research of her own. Most of the spirit-mediums she visited were terrible frauds, moaning and grunting as if they were about to expire or to give birth, or perhaps both. A few knocks on the table and a few garbled words was all these vile creatures were able to produce in return for their pound of flesh.

But there had been successes, too. A young gentleman with rooms off Lambs Conduit Street had, only four days since, materialised Selina's delicate, perfectly-arched foot before Margaret's very eyes. She had returned two days later and heard Selina speak through the young man. It was such a great relief to hear that intoxicating voice after so long. She was convinced no fakery could be involved.

Selina's voice was not, alas, to be heard that night. As the last hours of October rolled into the first hours of November, Margaret lay awake, tortured by thoughts of her beloved. What must Selina be going through, trapped in that other world that lay just beyond her reach?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15th August 1885  
> Feast of the Assumption

The advantage to marrying late in life was that nobody expected romance; in fact, the sillier aspects of the whole affair had been largely done away with as Margaret walked down the short aisle of St. Cuthbert's parish church, a simple posy of orange blossoms in her hand. A small cluster of family members were the only witnesses.

She had never planned to marry. The idea of giving so much of herself to anyone other than Selina was a thought she could scarce entertain. When she first met Mr Alfred Gulping—a pleasant, ageing widower who visited the reading room at the British Museum as frequently as she—she had simply enjoyed his friendship and companionship. The proposal had taken her aback, and she would have refused were it not for the legal nonsense that plagued her. Mother had insisted that the house could not be left to an unmarried daughter. And Margaret could not bear to leave her home, not while there was still the possibility that She might return.

Some things in this life were worth making sacrifices for, and Selina was one of them.

In truth, Margaret had become despondent over the years. Each time she felt herself taking a step closer to Selina, there was some fresh disappointment lurking just around the corner. Every new lead turned out to be some kind of a fraud, or else her plans came to nought in some other way. But she stubbornly refused to give up hope.

Margaret smoothed down her plain cotton dress and strode towards the altar, catching Alfie's kindly eyes as he looked back at her. For the briefest of seconds she thought she could make out the shape of Selina's eyes amid the swirls of light that spun out from the church's great stained glass window. An invisible hand squeezed her tight, grasping the place where—in some other, impossible world—Pa might have held her by the arm as he guided her down the aisle to greet her bride.

She avoided Helen's stare.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20th January 1915  
> St Agnes' Eve

The house had grown untidier over the years, creaking, some might say, under the weight of all it had lost. The stacks of books, once limited to shelves and neat piles on the floor, now spilled over every available surface. As Margaret frequently reflected, it was a great blessing that Alf had never interfered with her rooms, never expected her to throw away her old things. Now, with the whole of the world in such a frightful state of chaos, it was hardly worth taking the time to pick up the odd dirty plate or used cup. And it would be a shameful indulgence to take on a servant when the boys were out fighting in the muddy trenches of France, and the girls were needed to take their places at home.

The only regular house guest was Dr Eaves. He had intimated that he was concerned about her isolation, but other than that he was very pleased with her progress. 'You've got the strength of an ox, Mrs Gulping,' he would exclaim, his round face reddening. 'With a heart like that you'll outlive us all yet.'     

The doctor had visited that afternoon, but Margaret had been forced to shoo him away earlier than usual—she had her preparations to make. It was an old ritual, and one that she had indulged in on St Agnes' Eve for many a long decade. Still she was not quite ready to let it go.

Picking up one of Selina's dresses—a travelling gown that she had selected with such great care so very long ago—she heaved her aching body onto her bed, propping herself up against the pillows. She didn't _hope_  in the same way that she had when she was younger, but the ritual was pleasantly comforting all the same. Though Selina had never worn the gown, she fancied that she could smell her scent on the fabric as she drifted off to sleep. 

***

'I'm here. Aurora, it's me.'

That voice had come to her before, in dreams. Yet this time there was something different about it; it was sharper, closer somehow.

'I'm sorry,' Selina continued, so close that Margaret could feel her breath against her cheek as she struggled to come to. 'It took me so very long to grow strong enough to get back to you.'

The voice sounded curiously antiquated and girlish to Margaret's tired ears. 'Where are you?' she asked simply.

'I'm nowhere,' Selina replied. 'I'm somewhere in between, but I'm coming back to you now.'

The hand that Margaret had last seen forty long years ago emerged from the ether, reaching out towards her. This time Margaret would not let it go. She held on tight, pulling the startling, luminescent form towards her. The spirit-medium's body emerged a little at a time: her slender hands, still rough and red from the work of the prison, the soft flesh of her pure white arms and the bare skin of her legs, her belly, her breasts, and last of all her face. Her face with its charming want of symmetry, still as youthful as it had been on the day they last met.

Margaret cradled Selina against her body; the floodgates that had been shut up for so long were finally released and her body was flooded with desire. Folding the bedsheets up around Selina's slender frame, she leaned in to kiss her. As she did so, she saw that the face had changed. It was no longer the face of youth, but a face marked with the lines of age and experience. A face more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.

'We've lost so much time,' Selina murmured mournfully, nestling her head into the crook of her lover's neck, as Margaret peppered her jawline with kisses.

'We've time enough yet,' Margaret replied, continuing to hold Selina's naked form close to her body. 'We've all the time in the world.' 

Selina stared about the room, as dazed and curious as a newborn as she drank in the boxes of travelling things, almost half a century old.

'I'm all packed,' said Margaret with a half-laugh. 'Italy tomorrow?'

'Italy tomorrow,' Selina replied.


End file.
